Ballads of Todd and Lovett ToddLovett Vignettes
by BeneathTheVeil
Summary: A series of vignettes involving Todd and Lovett


**Title: **A Ballad of Todd and Lovett (the vignettes)  
**Rating: **r  
**Summary:** They might not know it, but their Fates are intertwined. A series of little scenes thrown together in vignette style.  
**Pairing: **Todd/Lovett  
**Disclaimer: **Obviously I'm not Tim Burton, Stephen Sondheim, or any of the affiliates of Todd. Come now, I'm writing fan fiction on the internet. smirk

"Squeamish" was not quite the word to categorize Mrs. Lovett.

She had seen horrors that the mind only dreamed of…bodies and mangling and blood that most only had to think of in the solitude of their nightmares. But that day, for some reason or another, the body that cascaded down the trap door gave her the sickest feeling she had ever known.

It was a man, obviously, or at least what had once been a man. Poor chap must have put up a fight, for he was covered in his blood, which glowed a very unique scarlet, and was sliced deeply, in an 'X,' on his neck.

There wasn't only that. Mrs. Lovett cringed at the rips and tears in his fine suit and the blood that still trickled out of them. But why was she still staring in morbid fascination? It really was not something she longed to dream about in the following night.

"Poor bugger," she muttered, face scrunching even more into a pout. She reached down and gingerly yanked the man towards the grinder-

Only to have the skin of his neck rip and skull tilt off in a clean split.

She screamed, a curdling scream that echoed through the dingy basement and undoubtedly to the street above, eyes widening and stomach churning, and jumped back, skirts flying. She stood in the spot and breathed deeply, her heart pounding. As hard as she tried, her breath would not steady. Mrs. Lovett absent-mindedly began rapidly wiping her hands on the rag at her waist. Blood streamed, her stomach flipped, and she felt herself fly backwards in fright when the door behind her flew open.

"What is it?" The gruff voice asked. She heard the door slam and the footsteps thud behind her. "Why did you scream?"

She shook her head, eyes trapped in their opened position and staring at the corpse, and felt her heart begin to return to its normal rhythm.

"Nothin,' love. Just a bloody one, that one is," she drawled, voice strong but slightly insecure. "Nothin' to worry 'bout. Just scared me, it did."

He stopped several feet behind her and stared at the back of her head as she kept her eyes on the body, as if it would somehow get up and move again. Overcoming at least some of her fear, she began turning to the man behind her.

"I was draggin' 'im over, and 'is head just about rolled right off…wasn't a pretty sight, that…You know I'm alright with- "

But she did not quite finish her sentence, because out of the corner of her, the shadow of a corpse moved, settled really, and she screamed again, launching herself unthinkingly at Mr. Todd.

The body rolled over, the tug of the earth pulling more blood from it and the head falling into an even more gruesome position. She squeezed her big eyes shut, gripping with one hand at Mr. Todd's shirt and with the other at his back. It was the worst one she'd seen, of all the men to go, and she could smell it and feel it tingling on her skin. She saw red as her eyes squeezed tighter and she pressed her cheek into Mr. Todd's chest.

He stared unblinkingly at the corpse. It was indeed a gory one. The man just wouldn't let go. Kept squirming and moving about…he had to do something to finish him off. Even he, Sweeney Todd, cringed at the decapitated body.

And then he did something that he hadn't really done before, at least not since his return. His arms, quite naturally really, found their way around Mrs. Lovett's shoulders and he, on an impulse, pulled her into him. It was then that he realized that she had been sobbing, because as he embraced her, she suddenly and quite abruptly stopped.

She slowly let her sight move past him, from his chest to his neck and following up and into his eyes. He was…holding her. Actually holding his arms around her shoulders and squeezing her to him…

She looked up at him with big, almost sad eyes. And yet there was the slightest glimmer in them, the look that accompanies surprise laced with years of waiting. His face remained expressionless, but his arms drifted lower, from her back to her waist, and she let her head rest upon his chest, nuzzled into his neck. He was warm. He was heaven.

But who was he?

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Mr. Todd was a wonderful man, indeed, when he wanted to be. Quite a joy, really, for Mrs. Lovett. Of course, he was a joy to her even in his foulest of moods, but when he was awake, alive, even playful, she loved him the most.

She had woken up early that day, the sun still tucked under the line of buildings out of her bedroom window, to ready herself for the work ahead. The crowds were growing. Her pouch was becoming heavy with the weight of golden coins. Even Mr. Todd, who cared little for a thing as material as money, had commented on his growing purse. So it had to be done, the early rising, to heat the oven and start the first batches of her pies.

On that particular morning, Mrs. Lovett did not wake up on her own. When she first heard the bustling in her shop, she panicked. They had been discovered…had the Judge found out? Did he know who her Sweeney was? She silently, stealthily, crept towards the door and listened intently. She furrowed her brow at the racket. It couldn't be the authorities…it was a loud series of crashes that told her that. They weren't all that clever in the first place, but they were at least bright enough not to wake the dead in the early hours of the morning.

Mrs. Lovett cracked the door open, only slightly, and peered inside. Her face twisted in confusion even further when she saw Mr. Todd, covered in a cloud of what appeared to be flour, stirring a simmering liquid on the open fire. There was a jump to his movement. It was almost…joyous.

"Love, what are you doing?"

He stopped, obviously registering the intruder that had embarked on the topic of his mysterious activities. His arm kept stirring the steaming concoction as he seemingly contemplated what to do.

"You've made a grand ol' mess, haven't you, Mr. T?" She stopped, already halfway across the room from him. "What were you thinking, dear?" So she started bustling, too, gliding over to where he stood and leaning on the counter so that she could see his face. His usual blank stare graced his features.

"I was hungry," he bellowed, and looked down darkly at the dish. It was almost comical, the expression he had. It was as if he held a vendetta against the slop he was stirring.

"Oh, love," Mrs. Lovett answered, trying to keep the laughter away from her voice. "Why didn't you wake me? I woulda cooked you up something real quick." She quickly took the spoon from his hand and smiled up at him, sweeping the flour from the counter and nudging him away with her waist. He complied and made his way to the table, monotone in expression as always.

"I was hungry," he repeated dumbly. "I didn't want to frighten you." He looked out of the window in distraction. "Couldn't sleep…" he mumbled.

Not something he would usually say. But odd he was acting, her Mr. Todd was. Odder than usual, in the least.

"Wouldn't have frightened me, love," she whispered, sniffing the slop and cringing. "I'll make you something you won' perish from."

And that she did. What it was about Mrs. Lovett's cooking that made it so wonderful, Sweeney Todd did not know, but it was pure pleasure to only gaze at the things that popped from her oven.

As she placed his dish down before him and poured his ale, she almost jumped when his hand found its way to the small of her back, caressing as she served him. She _almost_ jumped, but she couldn't possibly do anything to scare him away…not with him touching her like that…

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Sweeney Todd was a peaceful sleeper, surprisingly enough. One would think that his manner of sleep would be violent and quick, with twists and turns and jerks. But he was quite calm, and Mrs. Lovett loved to watch him in his slumber.

The stone of his face softened in sleep, and she could see something else in him, the things that she had seen before. It was Benjamin Barker she saw as Sweeney Todd slept. Beneath the lines and creases of his face, beneath the shadows and thickets of dark hair, Benjamin was still there.

Mrs. Lovett sat watching him one quiet night. Business rose every day. Her new dress was a lovely thing, with lace and silk and the finest of materials draped over her shoulders. She sat in it then, as Mr. Todd slept on the sofa in her tiny foyer. On certain nights he was exhausted, and after supper would collapse into her newly reupholstered set of furniture and sleep. Sometimes he would stay all night. Sometimes she would change and come back to find him missing. Either way, the peaceful Sweeney gave her something to look to in the dismal evenings.

He was acting strangely…she knew when he was thinking - she was quite the clever woman, really, and knew how the man worked - and he was most definitely deep in the recesses of his mind during the day. He was airy, not as he had been when he had first come back to her, but airy in a different sense of the word.

She wondered why. She couldn't take her eyes off of him. He was beautiful, really, to her…he was beautiful, and she saw what he was, who he was, and she thought that he still was the only man who could possibly satisfy her, such an abstract and winded woman. He always would be to her….beautiful, that is. His chest moved slightly in his sleep, his breathing long and drawn, and his hair splayed across the velvet of her little pillow. She couldn't help but to smile at him, the corners of her mouth tugging into a little grin. Her eyes were warm, and she sighed to herself.

The lines under his eyes were prominent, but not so prominent that they were distracting. He was dark, and stains marked his barber's vest. She'd get those out real quick. His leather shoes were tearing at spots. She promised herself to buy him a new pair. She had the money, really…spoil him, she would.

He was perfect. Candlelight played on his skin, and gave color to his pallid complexion. She stood, tilting her head and studying him, as she walked to him. A strand of hair covered his face, and she reached for him, brushing it away lightly. He stirred, and she crept back.

She could have sworn that he was smiling in his sleep…but maybe that was her own delusion.

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Dark suited Mrs. Lovett well. Sweeney thought that as he browsed through the shop windows in the streets of London. It was a cloudy day, as it always was, and a silver glow cast itself upon the city. Dogs barked, children played, and the stench of horse filled the air as Sweeney stalked down the street.

No one really tried to talk to Mr. Todd. Better for him, really. He needn't be bothered with the blights of others.

Oh, that one was lovely…it would suit her, really, with the shape of her shoulders and the slimness of her waist.

And so he bought it, the lavish and rather expensive gown. It was a dark green velvet, rich looking and the essence of macabre. The stitching was meticulous and precise, with threading of gold. It was lined with black lace, and the bodice tied up in the back in a lovely set of black silk strings. She would love it.

But why did he care if she would love it? And why did he even think to look for a thing as rich and expensive as a gown for Mrs. Lovett?

He returned home rather late that night, the clouds over London parting to let the moon shine through them. He carried the dress in a silk bag, and slung it over his shoulder as he worked the door of the pie shop open with his key.

The place was dark inside. He thought for a moment that Mrs. Lovett had retired for the night, but she usually stayed up well past him. For a second he almost stopped and went right upstairs to his room.

But what harm could it do? If she was asleep, he would know it, and she would never know that he was even there. He would check the parlor.

It was dark, the purple wallpaper still visible in the room in the moon beams streaming from the door but obscured by the remaining lack of light. He saw a candle lying on the new oak server and lit it silently, turning his attention back to the room. The bag dropped from his hand immediately.

He had been acting strangely lately, and he knew, deep inside, why. The little scene in front of him did not help matters for him, and yet he could not tear his eyes away from the form on the sofa. Mrs. Lovett, clad only in a turquoise silk dressing gown, lying gracefully upon the surface, was sleeping soundly, and he really hadn't seen anything like that for years…fifteen years, to be precise…nothing that was so…

Lucy was a thing of the past. There was a love there still, he knew it, for why would he be committing the horrors and atrocities he was in the first place without that love for her? But there was something else growing within him, something he at first loathed, but quickly grew to know and even accept. His heart would flutter when he saw her. His stomach would fill with the all too familiar sense of floating. But her…why would she…

She was not obviously beautiful, in the sense that when one saw her, they did not turn their heads immediately to the sight before them. But there was a beauty within her, that was once there, and he saw that…in fact, he knew it. He only vaguely remembered her before his sentence, a neat and tidy woman in her late twenties - or was it early thirties? - that had a knack for cooking and who could speak a mile a minute. She was beautiful then, with thick brown hair, laced with red, and big black eyes, lined with black oil. Her cheeks were always rouged, her dresses always clean and tidy. She was slim and shapely, and she still was, really…he noticed it more every day.

He noticed it then, as she lay on the sofa. She _was_ beautiful…her eyes were closed, but he could imagine them sparkling. Her nose was petite and pointed delightfully. Her lips were crimson and full…they were, to him, recently at least, irresistibly delicious looking.

How could he think that? He hadn't though like that for years. But it was only everyone else who thought he was insane, gone from his former self…but he was quite sane, indeed. He only hid it. And in his sanity, he knew he had fallen for Nellie Lovett. Damn him for it. Guilt and pain and Lucy and…

He stepped towards her, the floorboards creaking under him. Her neck was exposed to him, and though that brought gruesome memories in itself, he pushed them aside…it was a lovely neck…he could imagine letting his lips drift over her-

He stopped. Such fantasies were child's play. And yet she still beckoned to him. The way the curve of her neck fell into her shoulders…the way her arms draped across the sofa, and her chest rose and fell under the meager nightdress…it was all so foreign to him.

He had reached her. He touched her side lightly, letting the silk slip past his fingers. She inhaled in her sleep, lost in some dream. His hand skimmed her body, from her hip to her arm and up, upon her shoulders and up her neck, to her lips…her beautiful lips…

So red, they were. His thumb brushed the pout of her lower lip. She stirred and he lifted his thumb. But she still slept, and, unable to contain himself, he leaned down to her.

She was sweet when his mouth touched her own. Wonderful and delightful, her lips full. A warm rush flooded him. He imagined her shapely body through the darkness as he lingered close to her face. He let his lips glide over hers again, ever so softly, as she slept, until he heard her moan, and he backed away, eyes wide.

Her eyes fluttered open, but by the time she knew where she was, Sweeney was outside the parlor door.

"Mr. T? Is that you?"

Her voice was slurred, not with drunkenness but with sleep...or perhaps with the dreams that sleep wove. He inhaled and gripped the door. "It's me." He, Sweeney Todd, actually gulped.

"Oh…s' alright, love. I was just sleeping. Had a wonderful dream, really."

His expression remained dark as he stared at the floor from the pie shop. Guilt was a monster, really, and it was pouring over him and eating him alive.

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If Mrs. Lovett had known that her dream was not in fact a dream at all, she would have let carnal needs take over.

Mr. Todd was the object of the dream, of course, as he was often in those days for her. They were walking the streets of London as a couple, she in white and he in a grayish suit that fit his form. She remembered those things vividly, of course, because she would day dream about them as she sold her pies through the day. They spent the day together, a pleasant one, in which he even smiled several times, and after their supper, had gone to a nicer part of the Thames and watched the sky…until he kissed her. She always woke after he kissed her. She was quite tired of it, really…not getting to witness the rest of her dream-self's excursions.

Oh, but the kiss had been so real this time, as if he was really there with her. It wasn't rough, but a light glide, a lingering over her mouth. She would give up all the rest of her dreams to witness that one, just one more time.

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She loved him too much. He knew that when she thought he wasn't looking, she would look at him, longingly, with lust and with hunger. At first he thought that she was simply deprived of company, of a man to have her since her husband had died when she was so young, so tender. But it was more than that. "Always had a fondness for you, I did," he heard her mutter one day. That phrase would repeatedly echo in his mind.

He almost hated himself for looking at her like he did. At first he thought that he truly was going mad, truly was the insane wreck that he appeared to be. But then he knew…he couldn't help it, really, not with her staring at him and twisting into that bittersweet smile.

She was twisted…he was twisted. He knew it and he embraced that…but the guilt that flowed from wanting Nellie Lovett was going to do him in, more than the guilt that he had had in Australia when he blamed himself explicitly for not fighting back in the scandal that would bring his, and Lucy's, demise. But he was weak then. He was strong now.

Except for her. He wiped a red stain from the slanted window of his shop and cringed at the impending rain. He could kill a man in the blink of an eye and feel no regret, but he could never leave her from his mind, at least, not in those dark and yet delightful days. He just couldn't.

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He found that, as she was pressed into the tattered wallpaper of his shop, she enjoyed the subtlest pressure on her neck…right there…with his lips. She liked the softest touch to her waist, and yet when she wrapped her legs around his torso, she squeezed him until he thought he would pass out from lack of air. She loved it when he would whisper in her ear, or even nip at her skin, and she couldn't resist him if he trailed his finger from the place where her dress met her shoulder down to the tenderness of her breast. She would sigh and when he caressed her just _there_…she would moan for him.

She loved how his eyes would light up when she let the corset fall from her body. He would kiss down her length and let his hands roam the pale flesh before him. And when they finished, he would remember what love felt like…though it wasn't really love. A quick jab of guilt, the slightest slash of pain, and he would watch her, her red and wild hair splayed across the pillow, as she slept peacefully.

"You're a bloody wonder," he said to her one day, and when his glare fell into a lopsided smirk, she let her eyes travel over him and sauntered to him, arms outstretched and gloved hands covered in flour.

They would kiss hungrily as she skimmed her hand over his cloth-covered thigh. She would groan as his finger slipped into her and her knees would weaken into a state of distress. Not even a razor or a fiery bake oven could prevent that.

She smiled at his still form in the dead of the night. 'Twas a macabre life they lead, they did. A macabre one indeed.

_fin_


End file.
